Francois Brousse,
a well known French philosopher, metaphysicist, poet and spiritual
master, wrote a very moving poetic homage to the Mahatma on his
death. The poem, composed in French, has since been translated in
many languages of the world. English rendering of the poem by
Martine Combe, an ardent Gandhian from France, is being reproduced
here.

The Death of Mahatma Gandhi

I

The light of the
world has gone out

The star has
passed away

The starry vault
exhales its lamentations

From the zenith to
the nadir.

The man who
brandished the flame,

The flame of love,

The Inspired, the
Apostle, the Mahatma

Has left the
Earth.

He died like a
saint on the crest,

For India and the
universe,

Killed by the
bullet of crime

Below the great
wide open skies.

And the centuries
to come shall see on Earth

From blood
enlightened,

Rising up, another
solitary Christ,

The righteous soul
slain.

II

Trees, why cry in
the deep forest?

“Alas, we have
lost the tallest tree of our world

“The one who in
his august shadow married

“The brahman’s
dream t the pariah’s tears.”

O winds, why cry
on the far away snows?

“Alas! We have
lost the great breath,

“The brilliant
blow that poured into our hearts

“Embittered by the
Earth, a victorious ideal.”

O mountains, why
are you abyss grieving?

“Alas, we have
lost the sublime mountain

“The great
forehead formed of dawn and granite,

“The magus whose
crown merged into infinite.”

O tragic universe,
why shed tears?

“Alas, the humble
warrior with smiling arms,

“Whose sword of
light annihilates the night,

“The gentle
prophet with peaceful eyes is destroyed.

“He shone like a
sparkling world of mercy!

“A bullet, a vile
lead, has killed the immense being

“Whose quiet face
enlightened our fields,

“He died crucified
as the sun was setting.”

III

Under the colossal
claw of England,

India with her
million beings laid suffering,

And the Himalayas
with its fierce paths

Bowed their
austere crowns.

The Ganges carried
in their extraordinary flow

But the image of a
prodigious prison;

The blue lakes,
with its swans and scoters,

Were as dark as
wells.

Thus you came down
from the trembling clouds

Where the palace
of fairies and gods resplends,

Holding through
your azure fingers, O Gandhi,

Liberty, the
heaven of wise men!

To the beneficent
rays of this golden star,

Quietened the
thunder the great lion of the seas

And the winged
elephant from the everlasting India

Resumes his great
flight;

Now we can see him
fly into the nocturnal air,

Like a magic
vessel carried away by the winds,

His beating wings
well rhymed, his trunk uplifted

Towards the sky
where Saturn blazes;

Glory to you, pure
ancient, who knew how to resuscitate

The Hindu giants
asleep at the bottom of the Ganges!

Out of these
vanquished monsters you made proud archangels,

Kings encharmed
with liberty!

India was once the
fountain of races

And the eternal
race from which the gods surge forth;

She is born again,
adorned with myriads of eyes,

The goddess
forever alive!

A morning light of
purple love flamed

When your blessing
hand spread the light;

Can you see the
whirling people in prayer

Invoking you, O
Mahatma?

Can you sense the
intense despair which troubles them?

Do you her their
song of worship?

O Bapu, the sacred
eye of constellations

Shed tears upon
your corpse!

IV

When the shadow is
about to cover the skies;

When pale mortals
jostle, anxious,

In the blind
unleashing of darkness;

When the hydra of
the night, in its gloomy coils,

Surrounds the
globe, and, under its depraved knots,

Threatens to crush
the trembling universe

Like a python
chokes on a wild doe;

In a time of
murder and havoc;

When, like the owl
lay upon a coffin,

Satan reigned,
dazzled, over the mourning peoples;

When the bells of
hell in chests roar

The Living God
sends a redeemer to the world.

Ram liberated the
raving peoples

The devils-men,
beneath their tyrants’ feet

Crushed, and the
hero erected, like an epitome,

His mysterious and
virtuous life like a temple.

Krishna, the
Virgin’s son, echo of the great Sun,

The bright red
blaze radiating from his heart,

Died forgiving his
cowardly murderers

Like the
sandalwood tree that perfumes the axe.

Buddha, the
Enlightened, told bitter men

To repudiate the
illusory light from the seas

And from the
insane world, to turn their blemished faces

Towards the blue
Nirvana, towards the supreme calm.

When the cross was
erected on mount Golgotha,

The pensive
trinity in Paradise sang

And the king of
hells cried within the flames.

The smile of
Christ transfigures souls.

Then the consoler,
the chosen one of Paraclet,

Manes with his
intense gaze appeared, holding the keys

Of the garden of
light wherein ecstasies penetrate;

He perished
skinned by the sons of deceit.

Nanak came to
teach that with different names

The same formless
God filled the universe;

The Vedas, the
Bible, the Koran, these brimming sources

Reflect wisdom
with universal hands.

Christ in his
heart joins Buddha and Muhammad;

Beneath eternal
roses entwined,

The vision of God
surged forth from his eyes.

You, you knew how
to combine dream and action.

You come, clad in
while like halcyons

To reforge the
heroic chain of the Wise.

Your heart,
vibrating, pure and infinite, offers a message to the world,